


count bodies like sheep

by nonbinarywithaknife (littleboxes)



Series: a cacophony of idiocy [5]
Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen, Implied Loneliness, Light Angst, Naddpod: Eldermourne, Naddpod: Eldermourne Arc 2, but not really? just. its weird, casual violence as affection, the kind of background implication of child soldier-y fucked up stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29645463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxes/pseuds/nonbinarywithaknife
Summary: A look at the Hexbuds, a few days before.
Relationships: Corbeau "The Crow" Babineaux & Tarragon Snakeroot & Jabari Hightower
Series: a cacophony of idiocy [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692697
Kudos: 11





	count bodies like sheep

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'counting bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums' by a perfect circle

**i. snakeroot.**

The sky outside is black and filled with stars, and Tarragon stares at it as she breathes through her nostrils. In, out, in, out... steam fills the greenhouse and the windows fog up, and soon enough she can’t see the stars any longer.

Her room is upstairs, but the dragon rose has been looking wilted lately, so she curls up on the floor next to it. She takes her hair out of its bun and unrolls her sleeves. Her workbelt is folded neatly on the ground next to her; she learned from the one time she didn’t think to take it off before going to sleep, and she’d accidentally bent the handle of her favorite trowel rolling over in her sleep.

The hardness of the ground reminds her of her cot in the old hall, even if her greenhouse is warm where the hall used to be drafty. The cot her apartment came with is weirdly soft, and even after taking all the odd little accessories it came with off, it still never feels quite right.

The greenhouse floor doesn’t feel _quite_ right, either, but it’s closer, and warm, and her breaths are loud and even and despite running hot, she’s always preferred warm places.

She takes the dragon rose’s pot up into her arms and rests her back against the wall. She breathes one small, quick lick of flame onto the body of the pot, to keep the soil warm through the night, and ignores the rush it sends through her. Those days are over.

The heat of the terracotta would burn a lesser person, but as she falls asleep, she presses it close to her chest.

**ii. crow.**

_Corbeau runs into the hall, slamming the doors behind him._

_“Jabari! Tarragon! Y’all’ve gotta check this out!”_

_It’s past dark out, and as he yells there are a chorus of groans. Following that, he has to dodge the flurry of mostly bladed weapons thrown at him with supernatural precision, but he's used to that, and isn't even scratched. Jabari peers up from his cot, and Tarragon does the same a row over._

_"What? What is it, Jabari was_ just _getting to sleep," he complains, even as he sits up properly._

_Corbeau grins, and accidentally splits his lip back open._

_“_ L ook _what I can do now!” he says, and leaps forward to deck Jabari. He_ almost _misses, as Jabari dodges, but he’s still clinging to the last dregs of sleep, and there’s a loud crack as Corbeau's fist connects. Jabari, without missing a beat, leaps from his cot and tackles Corbeau and follows it up with a headbutt. Corbeau just laughs._

_“Jabari, how d’you feel?”_

_“Jabari-! Jabari is... not hurt? What is this?” Jabari holds a hand up to his cheek, before turning to Corbeau with a wide smile, “You have mastered the healing hands?_ Yes! _”_

_“Hey, come on, how come Jabari’s the only one who gets some of that fancy new healing?” Tarragon says, having got up and walked over, “Don’t be stingy.”_

_Corbeau spits out some blood onto the floor, and looks at Jabari. They turn in sync to Tarragon, and leap to tackle her at the same time. She shrieks, eliciting more groans from the other Hexbloods attempting to sleep, and the fight begins in earnest._

_They go until they run out of ki, and up spread across their three cots. Technically, they each have one they’ve been assigned, but Corbeau’s is the closest to the door of the three and so is often co opted by whoever gets out of training first, which is usually Jabari. Jabari’s is the firmest of the three, and as soon as Tarragon learned that it became dragon territory. They switch between them intermittently, now, and they each stare up at the ceiling, happily exhausted._

Corbeau wakes up. The cellar is dark, and Lake is snoring. He sighs, and rolls over. There won’t be anyone up until dawn breaks. He won’t be able to fall asleep again, but he closes his eyes and starts to circular breathe as he composes today’s speech.

**iii. hightower**

Jabari wakes up. he leaps from bed into a somersault smoothly, and drops onto all fours from there. He begins his push-ups and speaks the count aloud, as he has always done.

Fang and Claw are already on his back, and as he reaches two-hundred, he jumps up and draws Claw. He begins his forms, and as they get longer and more intricate, his yells get louder. By the time Claw’s blade begins slicing against the wooden walls, deepening the familiar grooves, he hears the first groans come from the barracks. 

He ignores them. How they are to become strong when they insist on sleeping so late is beyond him. 

He finishes with Claw, and returns it to his back. He leaps for the bar nailed above his doorway, and begins his pull-ups. His count echoes through the barracks.

One-hundred and forty-three… One-hundred and forty-four…

The barest hint of sunlight is streaming through his window by the time he heads out to practice with Fang. He used to practice in the barracks, shooting at the old targets on the rafters, but apparently that is _frightening the guards_ and _causing too many injuries_. Perhaps if they didn’t want to be injured, they should move out of the way more quickly.

The time flies as he falls into Fang’s rhythm, and the rest of the day passes as most of the days have passed. He talks with Reynard and the commanders, sprints laps around the castle, worries about the king, talks with Reynard again, stops in on the training of some of the new recruits, and then night is falling again.

He is asleep as soon as he goes prone.


End file.
